


Spinoff

by holographic_meatloaf



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: And I just want that to be recognized, He's just a really interesting character that has grown so much, I am impatient, I plan to will a flashback episode into existence by pure spite, Sorry about the summary, beta isn't here post literal garbage, when I run out of ideas I resort to jokes only I think are funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holographic_meatloaf/pseuds/holographic_meatloaf
Summary: Because the Cable Network of Life just won't cancel him. (Or more aptly: The ballad of the wildly fluctuating levels of control Lou Jitsu has over his life at each increasingly more chaotic stage of it)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Spinoff

**Author's Note:**

> Still screaming about this tiny rat-man, someone please confiscate my computer. Regarding canon, there are minor deviations from it as well as some speculation on my part but I hope it isn't too distracting.

Every little facet of him is filed and documented someplace; his name and face pasted everywhere but Lou has no idea how he got here. If he were honest with himself he didn’t care much anyways. Life came at him quick but he was nothing if not limber, leaping and flipping and kicking until the world was just a blur of bodies at his feet. Sure, he would share a drink with quite a few of them after the cameras quit rolling, once they unfurled and punched out for the day; though he made it a point to know their names, when it came down to it that’s all they ever really ended up being. A part of him always lamented over it but he couldn’t afford to let it weigh him down for long when he was expected to rise above the rest.

He did feel remorseful from time to time though, when it all mixed together in his brain and he couldn’t really determine what was fiction anymore. Too many times information he should have, in hindsight, remembered would trickle and slip away, replaced with a variety of anecdotes and encounters from the screenplay of his life. He was resentful more than anything when he allowed himself to think on it, the script was always written by somebody else, always by agents beyond his control and MAN he thought he had finally shed that role, ESCAPED that world…

Life became much easier when he didn’t read into it.

So he’d smile and improvise most of the time, too often he was worth too much to lose over small, petty things like lines and stage directions. He took direction from no one anymore. Maybe that made him difficult to work with, but they all seemed to smile back and go along for the ride so he stopped worrying about everything and just let himself do what he was best at and most of the time, it seemed to be enough to keep the life he loved afloat for that much longer. It wasn’t as though he had much to say in the first place, just a few one-liners, a catchphrase or two, but he didn’t need to be wise. He needed to be fun and vibrant and good at his job, and for a long while that was all he cared about. It was the only thing that mattered, and the memories he was actually able to salvage were fond.

* * *

Lou should by all accounts be lost. But the feeling was easily swept away in the rush of adrenaline that preceded every battle and ignored in the glorious warmth of every victory. He never bothered to mention the circumstances of his arrival to his fellow Nexus contestants, lest he be accused of some twisted form of favoritism, though he never liked to dwell on it much himself, in any case. That chapter of his life hadn’t so much ended as the entire book had closed on him, and he was thrust into one of another subject and genre entirely, to where he would have barely even recognized it belonged to him upon first glance.

Nevertheless, he was ultimately glad to be here, in a place where the fame remains long after the ending credits, and truthfully it was the most excited he had been to be alive in years. Stepping into the arena, hearing the shouting of the crowd was far more invigorating to him than the dull controlled clack of the clapboard or the muffled far-away laughter from a party he would immediately forget he was ever a part of for one reason or another. The energy of the spectators was overwhelming, and for a moment everything settled into place, as he and his opponent would begin to circle one another like their paths were etched into the dirt.

He had found his destiny here, and though he would rather eat glass than sing her praises like every pathetic staff member he encountered, he had to at least thank Big Mama for her role in all of this. He barely saw her anyhow, supposing that so long as he didn’t bother her he was no longer worth any of her time. That was fine by Lou, though as much as he hated Big Mama he’d be lying if he said he never got a kick out of seeing her expression every time he managed to hang on to his title; watching her fail at her own little game was the sweetest validation of all.

He was kicking ass, literally. He was like a machine, taking out his opponents left and right, but unlike before, it never got to a point where the fighting felt mechanical. He was truly free to do as he wished, allowing the energy of the crowd and the flow of the fight to direct his own moves, and it just felt so good to have total control of himself for once in his life…perhaps he may have thrown one too many punches, broken one too many bones, engendered more blood than he may have meant to, but that was show business, right? More or less cutthroat, just in a less literal sense. He’d seen humans in worse condition paid less in the industry, and if the it and the Nexus were anything alike, he knew to get stale was to be thrown away. He couldn’t afford that. Not again.

So as he soared above his opponent in his typical spectacular fashion, he faltered in midair at the muted response of the spectators. Maybe it was him just being willfully ignorant the last few matches but this wasn’t something he could deny anymore. He could practically envision that tabloid headline now as it was before, declaring him all washed up and worthless…what would Big Mama do with him then? At his loss of focus he was caught and thrown to the other side of the arena, and the roar was deafening, but their eyes were debilitating, taunting, cynical, and it chilled him how far down of a drop it was from here. He knew he was losing, whether or not he won the battle it didn’t matter. His competition loomed closer and the sheer noise overtook him, his senses were overloading and he had to do SOMETHING because he just couldn’t lose the one thing keeping him ALIVE but there was nothing he could do about it, he was powerless YET AGAIN, HE COULDN’T GO BACK-

When it was all said and done, he would say that he just panicked. He had lost control for a bit but he managed to pull through and win the fight to boot. When his vision cleared it was if nothing had changed at all, Big Mama declared him champion yet again though he noted a distinct hint of amusement where irritation should have been, and he was again led away with the echoes of the crowd chanting his name wildly pulsing behind him. He remembered stains on his clothes, and though larger than normal, that was becoming a regular occurrence that never seemed to bother anyone much, so he usually just continued on. He tried to take them off but he found that he just couldn’t, and he barely registered his hands as they trembled in front of him.

No one ever mentioned what became of that yokai again.

* * *

It was daunting to be confined. As free as he had always tried to live, the genuine part of him always knew that he would end up in a place like this regardless, broken and alone. Those first few days in his cell haunted him long after the days and nights began to bleed into one another, his only semblance of the time the periodic faint echoes of what used to be. That sound that he once cherished above all else would reverberate against the walls, now tarnished with reminders, and it wasn’t long before he spiraled.

The first time he refused Big Mama’s invitation to return he was just as surprised as she was, and soon after she slammed the door and stormed off, he wondered if what he was doing to himself was even worth it. _Was he really even making a difference hidden away here?_ He debated calling after her until he thought upon what it was she was actually offering him. _Freedom_ , she had called it; the ability to redeem his sullied reputation and continue on with the life that gave him value and purpose…she had almost made it seem like the choice were his to make, that it was easy and simple and he so desperately wanted to fall for it.

But he didn’t even know what he stood for anymore. There was something rubbing him the wrong way about her dictating what gave _his_ life value or purpose, but as he sat there in his cell he came to acknowledge that he had never given her a reason to believe otherwise. He had never truly known any other purpose, and as much as he tried to run from his so-called ‘destiny’ it had only assumed a new identity at each subsequent stage of his life until it had to bloody his hands for him to get the message. _He was no better than they were._ The revelation had been disheartening and the flickers of memory ghastly, from which there was no refuge even here at one of the lowest and darkest moments in his life. He knew of no other escape than to desperately hack away at the remaining final tethers of temptation until they had been cut, and he crumpled again on the floor of his cell, like a puppet discarded, yet freed at last.

The second time he refused, Big Mama had taken a more direct approach, threatening violence upon him if he did not comply, and though she came alone, Lou knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to destroy him herself, should she desire to. He remained unphased. She had threatened to obliterate him on the spot, to strangle him until the light left his eyes, to do to him exactly what he had done to…he still didn’t care. _At least then,_ he had said to her, _justice will be served_. _Do your worst to me. I will not be swayed, and I will no longer allow violence to be a solution to anyone’s problems, least of all mine. I told you I have sworn off fighting, and nothing you can do will change that._

He spent the rest of the night nursing a bloody nose, but still very much alive for all of her promises. She didn’t bother him as much after that, but on those rare occasions in which she would send someone to accost him he only rooted himself further in this declaration, proud that for once he was able to carve out his own path, even if it led him nowhere.

* * *

This might as well happen. He repeated that often with a hint of humor because it was the only thing he could do to make the situation he was currently in a bit more bearable. Though in retrospect, he had stopped being surprised at the things life threw his way long before those two little creatures had burst into his cell with the intent on stealing him from that forsaken place at last. He could have pushed past them easily, but beyond the door was what frightened him; he knew well the price of escape was the undoing of everything he was willing to rot for. So he let them take him, _anywhere_ was better than there.

It didn’t take long for him to rescind that thought. Imprisoned again, whatever little control he had over his life even further diminished because whatever this new character was after he seemed wholly disinterested in Lou’s refusal to fight. Initially he regarded it as a good sign, Draxum even addressed him with more respect than Big Mama, though that wasn’t a high bar to clear all things considered. But there was a distant formality with which he carried on about his lawlessness that really made him uneasy to be around him alone. He was always confident that Big Mama would never actually kill him, there was too much messy, entangled history there. Draxum’s cold indifference was nothing close to anything he had ever encountered, and Lou knew he was in danger the minute he realized his admiration stemmed from nothing more than the particular arrangement of his genetic material. His struggles, his thoughts, his feelings, they meant nothing, and it’s the first time in his life he feels less than human.

That’s when he sees the turtles. Neglected, piled on top of one another in a box adjacent to him, and for whatever reason, he feels a sorry sort of camaraderie with them. He didn’t know much about animals, he was only ever barely able to take care of himself back in the days that marathoned in his head most nights, but regardless of where they came from, they were all here together now. He looked around and saw no one, so he reached for them. The box itself was too large to pull through the bars, but they were small, much smaller than he thought they would be, so he lifted them one by one to join him in captivity.

He talked to them, regaling the tales of his life that had been worth remembering, recounting the warmth of the lights and human connection, how much he ached to see the sun again, how much it had always annoyed him to pour his heart and soul into a scene only to have the director tell him to redo it all over again, how, and don’t tell anyone this, he used to have at least 30 copies of "Hot Soup: The Game" in his garage because no one else would buy it, how he would get out of here one day if for no other reason than to make an obscure cameo in something…

They stared blankly all the while, and Lou knew of course there was no way they could possibly understand, but it felt good to reminisce on the aspects of his existence he wished he had grasped onto a little bit longer when he had the chance. In any case, anywhere with an audience was a place he felt comfortable, and he joked as he gently placed them back into their box of his hopes that he had made a good first impression on them. It was nice to talk without his legacy hovering over his shoulder, to put a piece of himself out there regardless of who he was talking to without fear that it would be tossed with the rest of him under the microscope of failure. It sparked something within him that he sorely missed.

Perhaps he relied too much on it. As their interactions increased, he was more likely to slip up, and soon enough, the time came where Draxum caught him red-handed. Yelling something about tampering with his subjects, he ripped the box away, and Lou was reminded of why it was they were all there. They were only a means to an end, and yet, he had found happiness there on the floor, reminded also of what was out there waiting for him.

He promised he wouldn’t forget them. Even as they reappeared across the room in their now separate containers, that hadn’t stopped him from calling out to them by their respective colored labels, only regretful he hadn’t thought to name them before they were taken away. Draxum looked on with irate confusion, but at least he seemed to be paying the turtles more attention, he couldn’t bear to see one of them starve to death.

They were worth more than such a cruel fate.

* * *

What…what was happening…where was…MOVE-! Where was he…? It smelled burnt…not safe enough here…wherever it was…he had to run but it was so… _hard_ …and they were getting _heavier_ but he couldn’t leave…LEAVE-! One, two, three, four, five…wait five? No that was just his vision blurring…his flesh looked pink but his vision…just keep going…he had to keep…

* * *

Crying. That was when he knew his burns were not burns at all. That his recent shift in physiology was irreversible, that things would never go back to the way they once were, as he had once dreamed. Destitute as he was in his makeshift shelter, it was not his own tears that alerted him to this realization. Rather, the sound originated just inches away from him on the ground, bundled haphazardly in a worn piece of fabric he had salvaged. He froze, alarmed-it was familiar, unmistakable…it was _human_.

The pile-up in his brain was louder than the thunder and wailing combined, as all the scattered fragments of the last week violently clashed together to form a horrifying image of what he had broken his sacred vow to prevent. He hadn’t prevented _anything_. Draxum had succeeded, his DNA was now somehow…he didn’t know what it meant and he was afraid of just how _much_ of his legacy they had inherited when he had tried so hard to spare them…

He didn’t know what to do. He knew there was not much he could do for himself, but knowing how little he could offer to these innocent creatures…well they were more than that now. They needed more than a hollow excuse of a man-rat-thing… _he didn’t even know what he was._ As they cried in the rain his heart broke for them, but who was he to repremand them for acting upon the angry and violent parts of himself that had literally been inscibed into them? Who was he to tell them how to live when that leftover resentment drove his own life off the deep end? Would they even grow? Or were they all destined to die out here, forgotten, fragile, and alone like the character he had abandoned years ago? He had yearned for the day he would be free and now that he was here…it didn’t matter. Survival was all that mattered. His dreams, his destiny, none of it was relevant because he wasn’t Lou anymore. He didn’t know who he was now.

Thankfully, no one else did either. He couldn’t afford to stay here anyway, it was unbearable to be in this place any longer-the very air was thick with regret. Draxum had seen to that, but what was he supposed to have done? For too long he had been complacent and selfish at best and downright despicable at his worst. If these children knew who he really used to be they would have never reached for him. If they understood who they were and how they came to be, they’d spend all their time running, struggling, fighting with their purpose and the result would only be the world he jumped through every hoop imaginable to avoid. He couldn’t help but want better for them. Just because they were a part of him didn’t mean they were condemned to repeat his mistakes. He just needed to make sure they didn’t, if they made it that long. He owed it to them to at least try to give them a better life than he had given himself.

So he gathered them all up together in that sheet the best he could without any practice and hushed them while they flailed and squirmed and mewled because this was new territory for all of them. He evened out his shaky breathing and rocked them steadily until at last they seemed to agree amongst themselves that they were in no immediate danger and quieted down. But it wasn’t until he took up his old tradition of storytelling despite the pain it caused him, beginning a new chapter in his life by rereading an old one, that they yawned and sank into him, tiny hands grasping at his tattered and dirty clothes as if it were something familiar. It wasn’t until he finished his recollection that he noticed them sleeping soundly against him despite the racket of the storm, in a display of wholehearted acceptance of him as he was, regardless of whatever abomination he ended up mutating into.

It was a marvel, truly, how they had come to love so quickly, so freely, the one who couldn’t even love himself.

* * *

As he saw it, time moved on with or without him, depending upon the day he was having. Though recently things had become a bit more permanent, and he was back in the town that he loved and missed…sort of. He was still under the city, only this time not so deep that he could not stretch his hands up and pull himself out of the past.

His hands were usually full these days. There was no time to dwell on anything when Red would grab his wrists and drag him absolutely everywhere; it was hard not to be endeared by his unblemished excitement about the world and his newfound ability to hold himself steady and explore it at his own leisure. There was no time to succumb to pain when his fingers would often delicately tend to each cut, scrape, or bruise, knowing that to Purple, it was the worst thing he had ever felt in his short life. There was no time to process the toll exhaustion had taken on him when he lied awake most nights holding Blue in his arms because he just wouldn’t go to sleep. And there was no time to feel the encroaching cold emptiness of the tunnels around them when Orange immediately filled them with a sort of homely warmth every time he laughed brightly upon being picked up.

No longer was he drifting from place to place like an anguished ghost. He had been made solid here, outlined and colored in with the broken crayons he would collect along with the leftover food from the dumpsters behind the restaurants. And it was then as he were distributing them among the children the thought occurred to him that crayons did not make for adequate names. He said them with affection, but at times it became too reminiscent of their experimental origins and though mindless, nameless violence was a far cry from the curious, unique innocence he had come to love so dearly, he didn’t want to potentially constrain them to what they had been ordained. Maybe he was being overdramatic, but he knew well the desire to be unchained from expectations, to be "reborn" into a world of their own making in an attempt to escape the one crumbling to dust around them…

He had clutched that crumpled museum pamphlet he was reading in his hands and his mind had been made up. Something bubbled up inside of him and he couldn’t help himself, grinning at how corny it was and how they’d probably come to hate it as they grew older but his heart was full in that moment, and he hoped that they would also come to understand how beautifully made they were to him.

Life was so beautiful whenever they were around, and though he knew better, it was hard not to get swept away in the joy they radiated no matter how much he shrank, however much fur he grew, they never faltered where he did and he loved them for that.

He loved them period, and they were his as much as he was theirs. In those moments of silence increasingly few and far between, he was closer to the world than he had ever been down here, that amidst the steady breathing of these children- _his_ children, his _sons_ in his arms, there existed causes to fight _for_ instead of always against. That the cameras would turn off, and the crowd would disperse but they would always be there. At any moment he could walk away with them in tow and be at peace with himself and the life he was _creating_ instead of wallowing in mistakes that obliterated the shiny life he once knew.

And there was more glory in that than any premiere, any trophy, any purpose he could conjure.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to one (1) cool dude, you know who you are. Sorry I always ruin your parties with my depressing tomfoolery


End file.
